


until you bleed pure

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bloodplay, Cutting, F/M, Healing, Massage, collecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 08:08:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12054825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: When there are too many Sworts beneath Draco's skin, Luna cuts them out to save him.





	until you bleed pure

**Author's Note:**

> This is the story I wrote for the February Daily Deviant posts but didn't actually post to the community because well, it worked best without any sex in it. Whoops!

Luna is in the kitchen when Draco gets home. She has pots dancing on the stove top, one filled with chicken soup, another with a roasted garlic and pumpkin stew, and the third holds a mess of thistle and beer that she’s boiling down to create an extract for a potion. She turns as soon as she hears the Floo flare to life, a smile lighting her lips. “You’re early!” she calls out, and the words hang in the air as he stands there, covered in soot, arms limp by his side.

Just stands there on the hearth, fingers slowly curling into fists.

“Oh, I see,” Luna says softly. “I understand, Draco. Go on into the room, and I’ll be right there, as soon as I put this under stasis. You know you’ll want dinner after; you’re always hungry once the toxins are gone.”

She should have noticed. She should have known. He hasn’t been eating right these last few days, but Luna simply chalked it up to stress over his work, about the job that he’s been working with Harry and how the answer has eluded him.

She should have realized that it was the Sworts building up in his blood. But sometimes they come on so fast, and stress only makes it worse.

She touches each pot with her wand; they settle calmly on the burners, held to a low simmer. The lid above the thistles jiggles, and she touches it again, admonishing, “Don’t test my patience,” and it goes still.

She unties her apron and drapes it over the back of her chair. The rest of her clothing is vanished, and she makes her way naked through the flat. She pads slowly on her bare feet, knowing that the soft slap-slap against the wood floor is audible, that he’ll know she’s coming.

He’s lying on the bed face down, his arms pillowing his head. He’s naked as well, his back fully bared to her, and she crawls on top of him, straddling his bottom and settling there comfortably.

She touches his back, and he flinches. Luna goes slowly then, flattening her palm and pressing down, waiting until his skin warms under her touch. He’s always so cold when the Sworts come. “Does it hurt terribly?” she murmurs, and he grunts a response. She nods, because of course it does. Her Draco is never silent, save when the Sworts lie beneath his skin and steal his soul away. She moves her fingers in soothing circles. “Do you want me to cut them out?” she asks, and feels the muscles under her fingertips go tight.

“Yes,” he says, voice soft and dark. “Cut them out of me, Luna. Please.”

She smiles then, and lays her wand to one side. “Of course, Draco. Lie still, and let me bring them to the surface first.”

Luna summons a tube of slick oil, spilling it in a line down Draco’s back. She rubs it gently across the knobs of his spine, then places her hands on either side of his spine and spreads the oil outward. She digs into his muscles, using the oil to lubricate her way, warming under her touch. His skin goes red as she works it, and he groans, arching his back against her hands.

“I can see them now,” Luna murmurs, tracing the pattern of mottled red across his back. “They’re right here, under your skin. Are you ready for me to take them out, love?”

His fingers twist in the sheets, breath ragged as he breathes out. “I’m ready, Luna.”

She takes up her wand and presses the tip against his skin. She traces the red lines, finding the pattern that lies beneath his skin. The lines are intricate, from the rise of his left shoulder across to his right shoulder blade, then a mottled mess between that and his spine. She traces the path like a maze, until she weaves in and out of the bumps down his back, finding the last patch of red just above his kidney. Her lip pokes out between her teeth as she traces the path back up again, then down, until she knows she has it memorized. That she can find them, even if they flee the surface of his skin.

It’s important that she capture every Swort, that she ensure that none are left. If she leaves even one, it’ll be days instead of months, possibly even only hours before he needs this again. And he can’t bear it that soon.

Luna has to be thorough.

“I’m going to begin at the bottom today,” she murmurs as she presses the tip of the wand tight against his skin. She murmurs the spell under her breath, inhaling sharply as her wand slips under his skin and blood rushes out.

Draco cries out, fingers tightly clenched and body tense as he pants roughly.

She curls one hand around his shoulder. When his fingers flex, she runs her hand down his arm, tangles her fingers with his. It makes it harder, but she wants to give him his anchor. “I’m here,” she murmurs.

“I know,” he whispers in return.

“It’s going to to hurt more.”

“I know,” he says again, his eyes tightly closed. “Get it out.”

His skin splits so easily as she follows the path. Blood wells up, unusually thick and slightly glossy. She can’t stop to capture anything until she’s done; with a shuddering path she continues to open him up. There’s a rosette on his lower back, just where his kidney lies hidden, then the path woven through his spine. The spiderweb across his shoulder blade is a mass of blood before she’s done, but the single line back to his left shoulder is bright and clean.

He’s breathing heavily under her, shaking her with every exhalation.

That was the easy part.

“I love you,” she reminds him, carefully untangling their fingers. She needs both hands for this, in order to be sure.

Then she digs her fingers into the wound.

She presses deep, pushes the margins of the wound wide to let the blood flow more freely. The Sworts are tiny things, thick and sluggish in the bloodstream. She slides her fingers through the blood, gathering them up like tiny pearls and dropping them one by one on the nightstand. She has to dig harder around his spine, extracting them neatly from where they lie nestled against the bone. He cries out and shudders as she finds one too close to the nerves, and she presses a hand flat against his back, soothing him.

“Keep going,” he urges, so she does.

His skin goes pale as he works, this infestation deeper and stronger than any other has been before. His ragged breaths grow slower, body cool and clammy. She’s not done, but she pauses, her fingers buried deep in the meat of his left shoulder.

“Keep going!”

She’s sure it’s meant to be a shout, but it’s a piteous whine instead, gasped with emphasis. She pushes deeper yet, curls her hand around and brings out the blood and Sworts and leaves them on the nightstand.

It’s a mess, blood dripping down the woodwork, and Draco’s back a ragged wreck. His breath is slow and shallow, and she knows she has to hurry.

Luna leaves the bed then, steps away to gather all the Sworts together. She sweeps her hands through the blood, rolling her fingers until she finds each tiny one. She puts them under stasis, ensuring that they can’t damage him again, can’t find their way back in.

There will be others, but for now, Draco is free of these.

She crouches next to the bed, her eyes level with his. He watches her quietly as she reaches out and traces the line of his jaw with one bloody finger.

“Did you get it all?” he whispers.

Luna nods. “You left it too long.” She brushes her thumb across his lip, the blood stark against his bloodless skin. “You need to let me know if I don’t notice. Someday they might kill you.”

He reaches out, palm cold where he cradles her cheek. “You’ll never kill me,” he whispers. “I trust you, Luna.”

“I love you, too.” She leans in, kisses his cheek. As she sits back, she summons two potions, one to replenish his blood, the other to ease his sleep. He drinks them both, and she has to rush then, straddling him as she works once more.

She begins at the top this time, using her fingers to pinch together his skin as she heals him. She digs in once more as she goes, just to make sure, and when she finds one last Swort her lips pinch together and she extracts it.

Draco is asleep and warm once more by the time she is done. Luna carries the Sworts to the kitchen and spills them into a bowl. They look like nothing more than drops of blood, made solid by the stasis spell she cast. It takes more work to ensure that the Sworts can never emerge alive again, that they are washed clean and made inert.

They are such pretty things in this state.

She carries the bowl with her into the living room, and curls naked in the chair, the bowl cradled where her legs are crossed. She summons her sewing kit, threads a needle with thread made from a dragon’s spine. She touches the bracelet on her wrist briefly, the beads shining dark pink. They seemed so light the first time, so easy to take. These latest are the reddish brown of ancient dried blood, and there are so many of them.

Her tongue pokes between her lips as she picks up the first of the Sworts and places the needle on the side, pushing it through. She knots the thread between each bead, ensuring the construction will never come undone. They are such a terrible creature, for the things that they do to her Draco. But he is healed now, and she will never let them take him from her. This necklace will remind them both that there is nothing that they cannot overcome together.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


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